


Take My Hand

by apliddell



Series: The Very Best of Times [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Johnlock, Established Relationship, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Mary, Post TAB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Sherlock has a little trouble finding his words.





	

There’s been a cosy sort of gloom hanging over our little flat all day. John’s been at work, which is generally dreadful but I rather need the privacy at the moment. Spent the morning loafing on the sofa, reading poetry in my pyjamas and turning John’s ring over and over between my fingers in my pocket. Funny how things that seemed pointless and ridiculous Before (era of arrogance)(will I be saying that about my present self five years on?)(strange thought but rather likely, I’m sure) now seem. Appropriate. Meaningful. This, I believe, is what John would describe as romance.

I’ve been drowning in research over the proposal since we got back to Baker Street (googled it first; no help as it was all about ‘her’ and what ‘she’ would want). I can’t recall a time I’ve been so long grasping for words. I seem to swing between swollen sentimentality and coarse flipness. A word isn’t word; it’s a handful of words. A dozen words. An essay. _John_ (John Hamish Watson)(if we’re looking for baby names)(baby names! Christ!)(put the horse to the cart and not vice versa). _John, I love you always. Before you knew it, I loved you and before I knew it I loved you and before I’d uttered a word in your blessed presence I loved you_ (bit much?)(bit much)(haven’t even gotten to the marriage bit)(can I do anything but blink or bluster?). Where was I? _Marry me._ So many layers and layers and layers to that handful of syllables that we might spend the rest of our lives excavating it.

Today I have been alternating between scribbling drafts of this speech on a pad (all of which have gone into the fire so far) and flipping through the poetry collections I got from the library last week (seems the sort of thing for which I ought to turn to a book with some history)(there have been many men like me who said to other men the sort of things I wish to say to John)(heartening somehow). Can’t tell if the poetry is helping. Head’s more full of words than ever. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

Texted Dad for advice. He's not a bad sort to consult about this kind of thing, even if he is a heterosexual (bless him). He didn’t fuss at all (good man) only told me that I may not need to say much in order to be quite clear and that especially in retrospect, the asking bit is only one little moment in a world of moments. Sounds like a priori consolation to be honest.

I so want to get it right.

Realise around six that I've been drowsing when rain begins to pat softly on the window and roof, chilling the sitting room despite the small fire. Get up and go put on my dressing gown and slippers, then come back to the sitting room to stoke up the fire a bit and tidy away my mess of books and papers. John will be home soon. Nudge his slippers closer to the fire to toast in anticipation of his return, then set out a bottle of wine on the side table to breathe.

Have a shower and change into fresh things (feel for the ring in my pocket when I put my dressing gown back on)(must put it away at some point, though I don't like to have it away from me). And then, as I am fairly buzzing with him already, I take up my violin and my usual post at the window and play John's piece.

As I play the piece through a second time, I spot John coming up the road at half a trot, his head bowed, the collar of his jacket pulled up over his head to protect him from the rain. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more. Pause in playing (lost my place) to watch John make his way home. Squirm a little looking at him. I can never quite swallow the excitement John raises in me. I may be a magician who can conjure us adventures, but John is actual magic and glows (like a fairy!) with potential and advancing delight.

When I hear John shut the front door and hear his quick, light step on our stairs, I start up playing again. John bursts into the flat, and I turn to him still playing to see his eager face. We grin silently at each other. John hangs his jacket, then goes through to the kitchen. He returns with a pair of glasses, which he fills from the bottle at the side table before taking his chair.

"Marvellous!" John tells me as soon as my bow stills. He sets down his wine glass to applaud. I make him a low, rather silly bow, then at his beckoning, put away my violin to come and stand before his chair. John smiles up at me and pats his knee, "Come a bit closer and kiss me hello, sweetheart." I lower myself onto John's lap somewhat gingerly, and John wraps an arm round my waist to steady us, then kisses me.

Put an arm about his neck, "I'm glad you're home, John."

"Mmm," John says between kisses, "So'm I."

"You must have got quite chilled on your way home, John. All this warming affection." Rub his shoulders with mock concern.

John laughs at me, "Warming eh? That's flattering, I'm only just getting going."

"Mmmmm, how promising. Perhaps we'd better move to the sofa before I swoon under all this attention." Rise as I speak with a theatrical flourish, but my next remark dies in my mouth. With a lurch of panic, I watch John's ring fly out of my pocket. It bounces off the mantel, and hits John's shoe.

John kneels to pick it up, then looks up at me, a bemused smile playing over his face. "You've dropped this," he holds the ring out to me, but looks rather taken aback by the sight of my expression. "You. Okay? You've gone blinky again."

Swallow the urge to retort(never wanted to hide my face so much in my life)(can't believe how stupid and thoughtless a buffoon I am)(eyes are stinging)(don't CRY you idiot). Turn away a moment, then look back at him. Take the ring. Put it into my pocket and sit down in my chair. "You were not meant to see that tonight. I couldn't. I could not find the. Words." Sink my head into my hands and ruffle my hair. "I was not. I was not sure I ought." Better version of the truth.

John is quiet a moment, "That's for me? That. Ring. That's for me?" Meet his eye between my fingers and nod. "I want to show you something, all right?" Nod miserably, still cradling my head in my hands. "Could you look at me please, my love?" When I raise my head, I can see properly John's face is so soft with love and concern. His eyes are wet (though his voice is quite steady). He smiles at me, then lifts one of my cases of preserved beetles off the mantel. From a hollow in the bottom of the case, John extracts a screw of brown paper. I never knew that was there, though its creases are thick with dust.

John turns the scrap in his fingers, looking down at it with a serious smile. "I never thought you would want this. I've had it. Longer than I ought to say probably. I knew. Well. I thought I shouldn't when I. You know what I thought before we. Talked." Here he throws me a luminous smile, and I feel my own face lighten in answer.

"You thought I couldn't love you."

"I thought you loved me in a way I had been failing to understand or appreciate," John corrects me gently. "I was right in a way. I thought this," he holds up his bit of paper, "was me being selfish. Irrational and sentimental as a mutual acquaintance put it ha ah, on. An earlier occasion."

"An irrational bit of old paper." Though dusty, John's screw of paper is soft with handling. As if he's often worried it between his fingers like this. Soft with sentiment.

"There was a box, but it didn't fit in there." John untwists the paper, and I see a flash of gold a moment before my brain will let me understand what it means. John holds up a ring, very much like the one in my pocket. I can't speak. I gaze at it for a long moment, or perhaps several firelit days. When my eyes slide back to John's face (it's like looking into a light), there are tears on his cheek. I never saw them fall. He smiles at me when I meet his eye and sinks to one knee, "Of course I want to marry you, Sherlock. Of course, of course." I can't speak. Half tumble out of my chair onto the floor beside him. Hug him very tightly and bury my face in his neck. John strokes my back. My eyes prickle, and I let the tears fall onto his neck. Been silent too long (no help for it). Sigh (comes out a sob). John holds me and rubs my back and does not ask me not to cry.

After a long time, we let go of each other. Sit down on the floor crosslegged like conspiring children, our knees pressed together.

"There was going to be a speech," I tell John, glancing down.

John raises his eyebrows and grins, "Was there?"

Roll my eyes, "Of course, John! Drop the ring and cry until you propose instead was not my entire plan. Give me a bit of credit in idea, if none in execution."

"Here now," John reaches out to squeeze my hand, "Mind how you talk about my fiance." He tugs my hand, kisses my wrist where the sleeve of my dressing gown has fallen back to expose it.

Try not to shiver. Unsuccessful. "It had not yet become an especially good speech."

"Can I hear it?" John kisses again.

"There have been many. They have all gone into the fire so far," I admit.

John chins his hand, "Pity."

"I could fall back on my prop and my charming face," pull the ring out of my pocket and hold it out to John, smiling and batting my eyelashes.

John laughs and kisses the hand he's still holding, "Irresistible." He takes out the ring he's got for me, "Shall I put this on you?"

Hold out my hand in reply, and John slides the ring on and kisses my hand. I put John's on him, and when we clasp our hands together, the rings slot comfortably against each other. Clear my throat and drop my eyes to our joined hands (John's lips on my knuckles), "I keep trying to be clever. It's simple really. I love you, and I want to be with you only and forever. I want to marry you. Please."

John kisses me, sniffs, kisses me again, "Yes, me too. I want to marry you, please."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Take My Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517794) by [Lockedinjohnlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedinjohnlock/pseuds/Lockedinjohnlock)




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